


'til no space lies in between

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Confession, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Holding Hands, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Pride, Spider-Man!Lance, bed sharing, childhood best friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:43:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: keith confesses to spider-man that he's in love with his best friend, not knowing that his best friend happens to be spider-man.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this is a little something i wrote for pride month/julance based on [this twitter thread](https://twitter.com/lgbtzeIda/status/1138260844356128769)! the title is a line from venus by sleeping at last because when do i ever not use song lyrics for my titles

_I was a billion little pieces_

_'til you pulled me into focus._

_Astronomy in reverse,_

_It was me who was discovered._

_(I thought I'd never find you,_

_When suddenly I saw you.)_

_Like a telescope,_

_I will pull you so close,_

_'til no space lies in between._

_Then suddenly I see you._

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Ever since Lance became Spider-Man, he’s pretty much seen everything. 

For example: robbery, armed assault, arson—name any sort of cliché cop show with cliché criminals who commit cliché crimes, and Lance has seen them happen for real. Or at least, seen them attempted. For your average day high schooler who groans and complains every day in gym class even though he can secretly lift, like, three times his weight, he has a pretty good track record when it comes to stopping criminals.

Back to the point. Lance has seen pretty much everything, but he wouldn’t be a very good “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” if he weren’t also helping out random civilians with normal everyday things on his down time.

For example: if Lance had a nickel for every time he saved someone’s cat from a tree, he could probably afford his own car. Not that he needs one, when he can just swing to and from school (and anywhere) whenever he wants. And just the other day, he helped someone order their sandwich from a food truck, because the cashier didn’t know enough Spanish. Not to mention, the amount of elderly people that he’s helped cross the street probably far exceeds the rescued kittens.

So yeah, Lance has seen pretty much everything. But every once in a while something crosses his path that he never would have seen coming.

Case in point: Finding his best friend sitting on the roof of their favorite coffee shop an hour and a half after it’s already closed, legs dangling over the edge, face turned skyward to look at what few stars can be seen through the haze of the city lights.

Granted, it’s not actually the first time. Keith has a habit of climbing up onto rooftops and watching the stars when he needs time to think; the coffee shop has only recently become his usual spot, since he managed to get a job there for the summer. Lance isn’t really a fan of the habit, especially when Keith always insists on doing it late at night. So maybe it’s cheating, but over the summer Lance has made his own habit of swinging by the shop on nights he knows Keith closed, just to make sure he’s safe. 

Although this time is different. Keith didn’t even work today as far as Lance knows, so he’s not sure why he would come all the way out here just to sit on the roof. And when he does, he usually texts Lance either to ask him to join or just to let someone know where he is. Tonight he did neither. 

(He nearly gave Keith a heart attack, the first time he dropped by. In hindsight, Lance realizes it wasn’t the best idea to try getting his attention from behind when he was sitting on a ledge. The entire situation was poorly thought out, honestly. Lance is only lucky that Keith was still wearing his work uniform and name tag, which Lance used to stutter out an excuse as to why he knew his name.)

Because Keith has no idea that Lance is Spider-Man. And Lance intends to keep it that way, for as long as he possibly can—forever, hopefully. He’s not about to risk putting Keith in harm’s way, even if it means breaking his side of the promise to never keep secrets from one another. It sucks sometimes, makes Keith feel too far and out of reach when Lance has to hide behind his mask, split between two different pieces of himself, but he doesn’t have much choice.

Lance drops lightly onto his feet a good distance away from Keith without much thought, feeling a bit flushed and breathless from his recent swing through the city. He can’t really keep himself from smiling, heart still pounding relentlessly in his chest from the rush of adrenaline that never seems to get old.

He announces his arrival with a loud, dramatic sigh, planting his hands on his hips and taking a few lazy steps forward as he holds his head back to the sky. “Hey, man. You know, I think most people would agree with me that sitting alone on the roof of a random building in the middle of the night is pretty dangerous.” He stretches both arms over his head with a yawn. “Don’t you have curfew or something—”

The smallest, quietest, hardly-audible-but-definitely-there sniffle is enough to make Lance falter, and actually look down just in time to see Keith’s hand coming up to wipe at his face.

And _man,_ does it throw Lance for a loop. Because in the ten years that Lance has known Keith, he’s only ever seen him cry three times. The first was seven years ago, in the hospital with his brother while he was recovering from his accident. The second, when he got into a fight at school and was terrified that he would be expelled. The last time, when they watched _Marley & Me _while Keith was running on two hours of sleep.

Keith only cries under the most extreme of circumstances. Or, only when something is very, very wrong.

“Whoa,” Lance says softly. He steps closer, hesitating before he sinks down cross-legged beside Keith, mindful to keep his distance. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith mutters, pulling his sleeves over his hands to continue wiping at the tears on his face that tell Lance he is very much _not_ fine. 

He keeps quiet anyway, not wanting to press. Because Spider-Man doesn’t have the privilege of asking Keith about his personal life the way that Lance does—the way that nine times out of ten, Lance doesn’t even have to ask in the first place, because Keith will tell him all there is to know without prompting.

But that’s not quite enough to ward off the heavy, sickening feeling in Lance’s gut that seems to have settled there until further notice. While Lance has been gallivanting around the city, Keith has been sitting here, crying on a rooftop in the middle of the night by himself. Maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t help but feel paranoid that somehow—he did something wrong. Because Keith is upset, and alone, and Lance didn’t even get so much as an _I need you_ text like he normally does.

Keith sniffs again, breaking Lance out of his thoughts as he wipes at his nose before hugging his knees close to his chest. “Don’t you have a city to be saving or whatever?” he mumbles.

 _Not if it means leaving you,_ Lance thinks. “I’ve got time,” he says instead.

Keith doesn’t answer, staring down at where the toes of his shoes peek over the edge of the building. Lance watches him for a moment, weighing his options. The only way he’ll find out what’s wrong is if he asks while he’s up here, and he’s not sure Keith will be comfortable with that. He can’t ask Keith himself later, because he has no way of explaining how he knows Keith is upset. If he does nothing, it’ll bother him until he can’t hide the fact that it is from Keith, who at this point can read him like an open book.

So really, there’s only one option.

Lance chews at his lip, looking down at his hands in his lap and shifting slightly. “I know this might seem kind of weird, but… I can be a really great person to talk to.” Keith glances over as he lifts a hand to his head, tapping his mask. “Not to brag, but I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

Keith chuckles, a bit wet-sounding but better than nothing. “Yeah, I bet.” 

Lance smiles, even though Keith can’t see it behind the mask. “Still, you don’t have to. But if you want to, that is—just, I’m already here. So.” He clears his throat and turns away, suddenly hyper-aware of Keith’s gaze on him. “Feel free to talk, if you need to.” 

He lets out a quiet breath of relief when Keith finally looks away in favor of the sky, littered with the occasional cluster of stars that shine too brightly for the city lights to block out. It’s still strange to him, being able to see everyone for who they are while concealing his own face. He feels fake sometimes, when he thinks too much about it. Like when he puts on his mask, he’s becoming someone completely different each time. Even now feels a bit like taking advantage of it, asking Keith to speak his mind after he’d evidently chosen not to share, even with Lance.

Keith takes a long, deep breath and slowly lets it out, the sound of it quickly being lost among that of the city; tires scraping against asphalt, summer wind blowing across the rooftops, echoing laughter of people out walking along the sidewalk below. He still doesn’t say anything for a while, and Lance is getting ready to accept the lack of a response as an indication that Keith doesn’t want to talk until—

“I’m in love with my best friend.” 

It takes a moment, for Lance’s brain to process. And when it does, he feels his entire body freeze. _Literally_ freeze, like his blood has gone cold and every part of him has ceased to function. His heart skips three beats minimum, and he’s lucky to have both the city noise and the fabric of his mask there to muffle the sound of his breath catching in his throat. Because unless he heard Keith wrong, and unless he’s mistaken about who Keith’s best friend is… no way. There’s _no_ way.

Keith must take his silence for an invitation to continue, because that’s exactly what he does. “Been in love with him for a while, actually. Long enough that I can’t really remember when I wasn’t.” 

Lance is staring at him, eyes wide, jaw practically unhinged as Keith’s words sink in. He remembers just in time that now seems like an appropriate time to respond, snapping himself out of his sudden stupor to say: “Oh.” 

Not the best reply. He cringes inwardly, curling his fingers into his palms. Keith has fallen quiet again, picking idly at the torn-up fabric of his jeans. Lance takes a second to breathe, steadying himself with a small inhale before trying again.

“And… that’s a bad thing?” Lance asks quietly.

Keith is silent for a moment, gazing up at the stars. “No,” he says after a while. “It’s just—knowing he could never feel the same way about me.” 

Lance’s head is spinning, almost enough that he can’t believe he hasn’t toppled over the edge of the building already. He doesn’t even know what he was expecting this to be about, but this is so far from it he wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s been dreaming the entire thing. 

His voice might waver a bit when he speaks, and _god_ he’s never been so grateful for his mask’s built-in voice changer. “How do you know he doesn’t?” 

Keith laughs then, something with a bitter undertone that has Lance frowning underneath his mask. “He can do way better than me.” 

Something a lot like defensiveness flares in Lance’s chest and he shifts to face Keith better. “What does _that_ mean?”

“I don’t know!” Keith fires back just as defensively, tossing his hands into the air. “It means—I’m not good enough for him.”

“Alright, hold up.” Lance holds his hands up in a time-out motion. “I sort of feel like we’re getting off track. What exactly is the issue here?” 

Keith lets out an irritated huff, but nothing actually comes out when he opens his mouth to respond. Instead he returns his focus to his toes, brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Lance lowers his hands back into his lap and frowns, waiting expectantly for something else. When still nothing comes, he unfolds his legs and swings them over the ledge, leaning on his hands.

“Is it the fact that you’re in love?” 

Keith scoffs. “No.”

“Is it the person you’re in love with?” 

“What? No, I—” 

“Then you’re upset he might not love you back because you’ve decided that you’re not good enough—” 

“No!” Keith bursts, the heels of his shoes scraping against the brick as he lets his legs fall over the edge, pushing both hands through his hair. “It’s not about me, it’s—I _can’t_ be enough for him.” Lance stares at him, dumbfounded, as he heaves a long sigh, one hand still tangled in his hair. “He deserves everything I can’t give him. He deserves everything and I can’t— _be_ that for him.” 

Lance would like to say he’s being dramatic, but something about that hits him—hard. Something about how Keith is so utterly unconcerned about himself and only cares that the person that he loves—Lance—receives the love he deserves, whether or not he’s the one to give it to him. Something about that settles into the pit of his stomach and strips him bare and leaves him feeling infinitely more vulnerable than he should, given the circumstances.

Because he gets it. He _totally_ gets it. 

Maybe he’s gone silent for too long, because he’s once again ripped from his thoughts when he hears Keith sniffling again. “It’s stupid,” he mumbles, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his palm. 

“No, it’s not,” Lance responds immediately. His eyes fall to where his hand rests beside Keith’s, heart suddenly pounding in his chest. “I’m… I’m in the same boat, actually.” 

Keith lifts his head, blinking away the tears still threatening to spill. “Really?” he asks softly.

It’s Lance’s turn to look away this time, finding himself unable to hold Keith’s gaze for long. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I understand.” 

The city seems quieter now. It’s reached that point during the night when everyone is starting to slow down, and everything becomes softer, and calmer (unlike Lance, who now feels full of nerves, and restless energy begging to be let out). 

“You kind of remind me of him sometimes.” 

Lance stiffens, eyes darting over to see Keith peering up at the sky. He laughs nervously, trying not to squirm. “Yeah? How’s that?”

Keith shrugs, one corner of his mouth lifting upwards into a small smile. “I mean, you spend your free time swinging around the city and saving people every day just because you can. And even when you’re not, you’re still sitting up here listening to me talk about my tragic love life.” He shakes his head slightly, eyes drifting down until he’s looking down at his feet still dangling over the ledge. “I think he’s the type of person who’d do that, if he could.” 

Lance relaxes, or as much as he can given his current situation. Everything about this feels wrong, listening to Keith pour his heart out like this to the very person he’s so terrified of pouring his heart out to. At this point he doesn’t even know what would be worse: to reveal himself to Keith now (which has an entirely separate new set of consequences that he doesn’t even want to get into right now) or let him go on and hope that things work themselves out. 

He kicks his legs a little, swallowing. “I don’t mean to overstep,” he starts quietly. Keith looks up at him, eyes still rimmed red and it makes Lance’s heart twist so unhappily in his chest he thinks it might burst. “But… _have_ you ever thought about telling him?”

Keith’s eyes fall and he looks away, bangs falling into his face. “Yeah,” he admits, so softly that Lance has to strain to hear. “All the time. It’s just that—I’m too scared of what would happen if he doesn’t feel the same way.” He rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just can’t win, you know? Either he doesn’t love me back and I’m stuck feeling this way forever, or he _does_ love me back and we’re both stuck because I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it.” 

Lance bites down on his bottom lip so hard he thinks it might bruise. “Okay, well—say he does love you back. What if you _did_ do something about it?” 

“That’s almost worse.” 

Something gut-wrenching and freezing cold clenches in Lance’s stomach. “Why?” 

“Because then I have the chance to screw everything up and lose him for good.” His voice cracks on the last word, and Lance looks up again in time to see a fresh tear rolling down Keith’s cheek as he ducks his head. “And everything is just so good right now, I don’t want to be the something that ruins that. But we’re going to Pride together on Saturday and I just wish we were going as—more.” Lance swears his heart actually flutters, and then drops just as quickly as Keith’s voice wavers. “I feel so selfish, I should just be happy with the way things are right now because _he’s_ happy, and all I can think about is how I want things to be different.” He pulls one sleeve over his hand and wipes it over his eyes. “God, this is so stupid.” 

And Lance can’t stand it any longer. 

It’s not fair. He can’t sit here and listen to Keith unnecessarily degrade himself like this and do nothing. He won’t—he can’t do that. He swears under his breath. Then again for good measure, just so he’s aware of the absolute absurdity of what he’s about to do. 

“Hey.” Keith glances over at him, one hand still raised to scrub at the other side of his face. Lance takes a deep, deep breath to steady himself. “So, this is normally a huge no-no for me, but I’m gonna do something. Just… don’t freak out.” 

Keith’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t say anything as his hand falls back into his lap so Lance takes it as a silent understanding. His heart rattles almost painfully behind his ribcage as he slowly reaches up, and Keith’s eyes widen when his fingers close around the fabric of his mask. Lance swallows. 

He pulls off his mask. 

It’s a little dark, so Keith doesn’t recognize him right away. Lance can’t decide if he prefers it that way, because taking off the mask was already hard enough. It’s a bit anticlimactic, honestly, the amount of time it takes for him to react. He’s not freaking out, at the very least, which Lance had been fully expecting. 

Keith blinks, twice, a small gust of wind brushing his bangs across his forehead. “Lance?” 

Lance shoots him a nervous smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, Keith.” 

Everything sounds quieter, but maybe that’s just because the city’s been blocked out by the rush of blood in Lance’s ears. Keith actually squints, like he’s still not quite sure his eyes are working correctly. Lance sees the exact moment that it clicks, though. Because Keith’s face goes visibly pale, his eyes widen even further, and his jaw goes unhinged.

So much for not freaking out. 

“Oh—my god,” he chokes out, looking altogether horrified and betrayed, even, which sort of makes Lance feel sick. Not the response he’d always imagined after revealing himself as Spider-Man to Keith, but he supposes the circumstances are a _lot_ different than he’d always anticipated. Keith is still floundering, expression shellshocked and desperate. “Lance—” 

“Yeah, it’s just me,” Lance interrupts, holding his hands up placatingly in an attempt to stop Keith’s spiral before it begins. “Hi.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith repeats, heels skiffing across the ledge as he pulls his knees up and scrambles to his feet. 

“Wait!” Lance leaps up behind him, as Keith stumbles back a step. “I said don’t freak out—”

Keith turns and _runs._

He’s fast. There’s a reason their high school track coach has been begging him to join the team since before they were even freshman, and a reason that everyone fights to have him on their team for Cat and Mouse during gym class. But there’s also a reason that Lance has pretty much avoided all athletic activities ever since he figured out he could lift cars and snap assault rifles in half and run the distance of a half-marathon without hardly breaking a sweat. 

Spoiler alert: he’s faster.

It’s probably an instinct at this point, considering how many criminals have tried to run away the second they see a flash of red and blue swinging toward them and forcing Lance to somehow block their escape. Lance moves without thinking, extending one arm and shooting a thick gob of web straight across the roof and onto the handle of the door, just as Keith is reaching for it.

Keith jerks his hand back with a yelp, twisting around and clutching it to his chest like it’s just been burned.

“Sorry!” Lance grimaces, realizing that probably didn’t help much with Keith’s already full-blown freakout. “Sorry, it’s a reflex!”

“You’re Spider-Man,” Keith blurts, all in one rush of a breath as if it’s being punched out of him.

Lance nods reluctantly, clutching his mask in one hand. “Yeah. This wasn’t exactly how I’d been planning to tell you.” 

Not that he’d been planning on telling him anytime soon, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Keith. “Y-you—” he stutters, expression growing more and more horrified by the second. “And I just—” 

“Keith,” Lance starts, taking a step forward. Keith takes a step back, and his back hits the door. 

Lance can’t help the way that his heart drops straight into the pit of his stomach, heavy and ice cold. It doesn’t feel like betrayal—no, that wouldn’t even be fair, because Lance is the one who’s been lying to Keith for almost two years now about who he is, so if anyone should feel betrayed, it’s Keith—it feels more like a drowning, suffocating guilt that he’s the sole cause of the look on Keith’s face, trapped and desperate and more conflicted than anything else. 

He takes another small, slow step forward. “I know this is a lot,” he says softly, pretending he doesn’t notice the way Keith’s eyes dart either way like he’s still looking for an escape. “But if you’d just hear me out—” 

“Stop,” Keith shakes his head pleadingly. “I don’t want—god, this isn’t how it was supposed to—” Lance’s throat feels tight as his face screws up and he buries it in his hands, slumping back against the door and sliding down to the floor, until he’s left in a curled up heap sitting on the roof of a coffee shop in the middle of downtown while Spider-Man—Lance—stares helplessly down at him.

Lance is eighty percent sure that someone’s current mood and feelings determines how they perceive their surroundings, because the summer night air blowing across the roof suddenly feels cold, the city lights too harsh and unnatural, and the sky too barren and bleak. And Keith is right there in front of him, too small, and silent and alone and everything about it is wrong. Everything about it is wrong, and that just won’t do for Lance, not when his job is to make everything right.

His body moves on autopilot, closer and closer to Keith until he’s standing over him. He hesitates only for a moment, and then crouches down until they’d be eye level if Keith were to lift his head.

“Hey,” he murmurs. He drops his mask to the ground and carefully, lightly takes hold of Keith’s wrists, gently prying them away from Keith’s face. Keith finally looks up at him, face streaked with fresh tears that make his eyes glitter unfairly prettily, considering the circumstances. Lance looks back and forth between them for a moment, as Keith blinks away the tears still clinging to his lashes. “I already told you I’m in the same boat.” 

Keith shakes his head again, squeezing his eyes shut and curling his fingers into his palms. “You’re just saying that.” 

Lance lowers their hands with a frown. “Keith, when have I ever lied to you?” He pauses, considering, and winces when he looks down at his suit. “I mean, other than the fact that I’m—but that’s different, because—you know what, so maybe this wasn’t a great example, but I just mean—” 

He’s cut off by a brief, shaky huff of laughter, and looks up to see Keith chuckling wetly into his knees. “I’m a total mess right now and you’re still finding a way to make me laugh.”

Lance breathes out a sigh of relief, his own mouth turning up into a smile. “Oh, good. That was my plan all along.” 

Keith slips his wrists from Lance’s grasp and wipes at his eyes, sniffing as he dries the streaks on his face with his sleeves. Lance lets him, sitting back on his feet and waiting quietly for Keith to compose himself. 

It’s still hard, being right there but not being sure what to do. Lance’s palms itch with the need to reach out and touch Keith again, but he’s not confident it’ll be much comfort to him right now. Not to mention, there’s a lot to address right now and not exactly a clear place to start. 

Keith lets out a long, slow breath, lowering his hands once more and settling them on his knees, but he won’t quite meet Lance’s eye anymore. Lance shoves down the pang of hurt in his stomach and shifts on his feet. “I’m sorry.” Keith only sniffs again in response, so Lance continues, eyes falling to the ground. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of the situation like that. If I’d known what you were upset about in the first place, I wouldn’t have pried.” 

“You didn’t,” Keith mumbles, picking at his jeans. 

“Okay, well—just let me say this.” 

He clearly doesn’t like it, but Keith presses his lips together and keeps his eyes down. Lance studies him for another moment, before sighing and moving to sit cross-legged in front of him. “I was just worried when I saw you up here because you usually tell me when you decide to go off climbing rooftops, especially when you need time alone. But you didn’t this time, and you were upset obviously, so—I don’t know, I couldn’t _not_ do anything.

“I guess I was just trying to help. Which I know doesn’t really make any of this any better, because you hadn’t told me what was wrong and I took advantage of the fact that you didn’t know exactly who you were talking to, it’s just—maybe part of me thought I’d done something wrong that I didn’t know about? Or maybe, I don’t know.” He looks down at his mask, bunched up on the ground between his legs. “It would’ve felt wrong leaving you up here.” Keith remains quiet, gaze still fixed downward when Lance risks a glance up at him. 

“Plus… I wasn’t expecting—that, when I finally asked what was wrong.” Lance can almost visibly see Keith swallow a lump down his throat, eyelids fluttering like he might be fighting back more tears. “So I sort of panicked,” Lance says, voice softening. “And you kept talking, and I couldn’t figure out if it would be better to stop you and go or just sit and listen. It still felt wrong either way, but honestly? I’m glad I stayed.” 

Keith looks up then, brow creased ever so slightly, and Lance freezes. “I mean, unless you’re not, which—totally understandable, because I completely violated your trust and—” He cuts himself off with a short exhale of breath, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m not making this any better. Look, all I’m trying to say is—” 

“It’s fine,” Keith interrupts, once again lowering his gaze. “You don’t have to say anything.” 

“What? No, but I—” 

“And you obviously have more important things to deal with,” Keith goes on, digging his teeth into his bottom lip. “I’m probably just wasting your time right now—” 

“You’re important!” Lance cries, and Keith’s head snaps back up, eyes wide as Lance reaches forward to grip his knee. “God, Keith—you’re my best friend, you don’t think I’d make time for you?” 

“I mean, I—you’re—” Keith fumbles, seemingly at a loss for words. “I just thought—” 

“You love me?” 

Keith stills, his entire body noticeably stiffening, shoulders straightening back against the door. Their eyes lock, and for a moment it’s like they’re the only people in the universe, together in their own tiny bubble on the roof of a dark building. Lance has moved onto his knees, keeping himself steady and refusing to let himself waver as Keith stares back at him, looking almost as pale as he had when Lance first pulled his mask off. 

“I—this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out,” Keith finally stammers, cheeks flushing deep enough to see even in the dark. “I’m sorry, I know, it makes everything awkward and I’m sorry—”

“I love you too.” 

Keith falters mid-sentence, mouth hanging slightly open as he blinks. “What?” 

Lance’s mouth is slowly stretching into a grin, his chest feeling light and giddy at Keith’s bewildered expression. “I love you too,” he repeats, feeling lighter and lighter by the second. It feels so good to finally say it out loud, to finally say it to the only person he’s ever wanted to say it to. “I have for a long time.” 

Keith has gone silent again, eyes searching yet unmoving as he evidently tries to make sense of what Lance is saying. It sends a little jolt of dissatisfaction through Lance’s nerves, much like the sudden defensiveness he felt earlier.

“You kept talking about how you aren’t good enough,” he murmurs. “About how you can’t be enough, and I get that. But it couldn’t be farther from the truth. I feel the same way, but—you _are_ everything to me, Keith. I kind of hate how cheesy that sounds, but that’s how I feel, so I guess I’m just owning up to it.” 

“This isn’t a dream?” Keith blurts. Lance lets out a startled laugh, shaking his head as Keith frowns and looks down at himself. “This isn’t some messed up dream where I confess to you and then find out you’re Spider-Man and—then you tell me you love me back right before I wake up—”

“It’s not a dream, Keith.” Lance reaches forward, taking one of Keith’s hands in his and tilting Keith’s chin up with another. “It’s real.” Keith’s eyes fall to where Lance is lifting their hands, and then dart back up to Lance’s face after he’s carefully curled their pinkies together—what they always do, when they want to say something they really mean. Lance smiles. “I promise.” 

He feels kind of bad for being the cause of so many tears tonight, especially when he sees the new ones working themselves into the corners of Keith’s eyes. But it’s also kind of hard to hold back his own, when Keith moves and shifts forward to wrap his arms around Lance’s neck, and pull himself forward into a hug that Lance reciprocates just as quickly, pressing his arms around Keith’s back.

Keith’s shoulders are trembling slightly, and Lance tries furiously to blink back the oncoming tears. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Keith’s hair. “With the whole Spider-Man thing… I wanted to tell you, but I was scared of putting you in danger, and the longer it’s been, the worse I’ve felt. I never wanted to hide anything from you.” 

“I guess we’ve both been keeping secrets,” Keith admits, voice wavering a bit, and Lance can’t help but laugh a little.

“I guess so. How does it feel to know that you’re literally in love with Spider-Man?” he teases, which is hard to do when he can’t seem to stop sniffling now, and he can hardly see through the water in his eyes. 

Keith shakes his head, hair tickling Lance’s neck as he chuckles softly. “I’m in love with _you,_ Lance,” he murmurs, and Lance’s chest threatens to burst. “Who just also happens to be Spider-Man. That part is just an added bonus.” 

“Charming,” Lance mutters, and smiles a watery smile at the sound of Keith’s shaky laughter. Keith is the first to pull away, but he has the first real smile on his face that he’s had all night, even if it’s sticky with tears. Lance brings a hand up to brush the hair out of his eyes, and wipe away the tears that have collected on his cheek. “Thanks for not running away.” 

Keith snorts, his own hand settling over Lance’s forearm. “Not that you really gave me a choice, but… yeah. I’m glad I didn’t.” He looks up at Lance through his bangs, and suddenly Lance is aware of just how close together they’ve drifted. 

His heart thuds loudly in his chest as Keith’s eyes flick between his own, his smile slowly fading the longer they look at one another, replaced by something cautious but hopeful. Lance licks his lips, and swallows when Keith’s gaze seems to lower. “You know—” His voice comes out in a rasp. “I think it would be weird if I didn’t kiss you right now.” 

“I think so too,” Keith breathes, already taking hold of Lance’s suit and tilting forward to meet him.

Lance lets Keith pull him down, lets him guide their lips together, lets himself fall. He’s fallen more times than he can count during his time as Spider-Man, but this—none of those times could ever compare to this. Nothing can compare to the firm press of Keith’s lips against his, sighing into his mouth, breath warm on his skin, fingers sliding through the hair at the back of his neck and trapping him there, as if Lance would ever want to leave. 

He almost thought it would be desperate. He _feels_ desperate, his head spinning and heart fluttering wildly in his chest, but it’s nothing like that at all. Everything about it is so careful, so slow and gentle that it has Lance melting into the kiss, cradling Keith’s face in his hands and pressing his lips to the corners of Keith’s mouth every chance he gets. It’s all he’s ever wanted to be with Keith. 

It’s a little hard to breathe when they break apart, foreheads tilted together, gasping quietly into each other’s space. Keith’s eyes are still closed, only opening after his hand has slid down to rest against the symbol over Lance’s chest. He takes one last deep, steadying breath, lightly tracing the symbol’s outline with a careful finger. “You know this means I have to worry about you constantly, right?” 

Lance cracks a lopsided grin. “In other words, nothing’s changed.” 

“Pretty much,” Keith admits, his mouth curling upward. “Except for now I fully expect to see you outside my window every night.” 

“I’m a superhero, Keith, not a super-stalker—” 

“Not like that!” Keith scoffs, and Lance laughs as he pulls away and flicks his shoulder.

“Okay, okay. You want me to come over every night for a goodnight kiss, is that it?” 

Keith’s cheeks flush, even though he’d been the one to imply it. “I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Upside-down?” 

“Mary Jane style.” 

“Dork,” Lance huffs out in a fit of breathless laughter, and leans back in for another kiss that’s just as sweet as Keith’s smile. 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Keith has never liked crowds.

Lance has known this about him since Ryan Kinkade’s seventh birthday party ten years ago. It’s where they met, actually, the same summer that he moved to the States. He remembers first seeing him come through the front door hand-in-hand with who he’d later learn was Keith’s brother, already looking nervous after a first sweep of the living room crowded with overeager kids and tired parents. And Lance, maybe just as nervous by the fact that he didn’t exactly know anyone there, had no trouble marching up and introducing himself to them both.

Hardly fifteen minutes into the party, and Keith seems no less anxious than he had before, even after Lance stole an entire handful of M&Ms for them to share.

“You don’t talk a lot,” Lance had noted. 

And Keith had kicked his feet at the floor, lips pursed. “Too many people,” he mumbled. 

“Ohhh,” Lance nodded. “That’s okay. You can just stick with me. And whenever it feels like there are too many people, you can talk to me and pretend I’m the only one here.” 

Keith had blinked at that, and stopped kicking his feet at the floor long enough to really look at him. “Okay,” he agreed.

Ever since then, Lance has gotten really good at picking up on telltale signs of Keith’s nervousness. Like now, standing in line to get into the Pride festival with their tickets in hand, Keith pressing closer and closer to Lance the further they move along and the loose ponytail he’d pulled his hair back into becoming more and more undone with every passing moment. 

He’s staring past the entrance to where everyone has started to line up along the barricade for the parade and chewing on his lip when Lance nudges his shoulder. Keith starts a little and glances over, and Lance leans in, lowering his voice as he subtly points at a poster someone’s holding up a bit further ahead of them. “Check out that guy’s poster.” 

Keith follows his gesture and squints as he reads it. “‘No cops at Pride, just Spider-Man?’”

“I’m gonna tell ‘em,” Lance mutters.

“What—no!” Keith whispers, and Lance snorts when he elbows him in the side. 

“You have to admit, it’s pretty funny.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, but Lance doesn’t miss the way that his mouth turns up as he looks away again. Lance lets another moment pass, and then nudges him again. “Hey.” He makes sure he has Keith’s attention before offering a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay. You’ve got me.” 

Keith lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping as Lance presses a quick kiss to his forehead (because he’s been dying to kiss his cheek all morning, but he worked really hard to perfect the rainbow streaks on Keith’s face and he’s not about to mess them up). “I know, I know. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. Today is about us, remember?” He tugs Keith along with him as the line starts to move. “You’ll have fun, promise.” 

It’s not long before they reach the front, and Lance shoots Keith another smile as they show their tickets to the attendants, who in turn stamp their hands and usher them through to the other side. The parade itself doesn’t start for another half hour, but the square is already packed with people, lining the streets and wandering the blocks full of tents and booths giving out free stickers or selling all different kinds of flags. It honestly is all a bit overwhelming, everything bright and colorful and altogether loud, but there’s a buzzing sort of excitement in the air that has Lance breaking out into a huge smile as soon as they step through. 

The best part, though, is that Keith is right there next to him, his best friend and _boyfriend_ —and it feels right. He feels himself.

Lance reaches over and Keith glances at him, already smiling as Lance finds his hand and twists their fingers together, flashing a bright, contented smile of his own. “Ready?” 

Keith squeezes his hand, and leans in to press a quick kiss to his cheek (because Lance had purposely left it paint-free so he could do just that). 

“Ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (quick note about the mary jane reference: just assume they're in a sort of spiderverse type universe where there are multiple spidermans. idk i didn't give it much thought)
> 
> update: THERE'S ART NOW!  
> [here](https://twitter.com/stixy_/status/1149777320389070849?s=20)  
> and [here](https://twitter.com/asravine/status/1151877902675222529?s=20) (it's a thread) !!!
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Shiro had spent all last night patching him up, it feels strangely intimate to have Keith caring for him instead, even if it’s only the bare minimum. His touch is gentle in a way that makes Lance feel fragile almost, but not in the worst way. More like he’s something precious worth being careful with—not like some random cardboard box with a ‘handle with caution’ sign stamped across its side, but like a beautifully crafted piece of glass that deserves special attention. 
> 
> That’s how Lance has always felt about Keith, anyway. He supposes Keith may feel the same way about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!  
> long time no see! i've been thinking nonstop about this spiderman au so here's another chapter!!!  
> there's not exactly any plot but i kind of wanted to explore the difficulties that come after lance reveals to keith that he's spider-man. it'd be hard both ways, because on one hand keith would be constantly worried about lance (for good reason) and on the other hand, lance has kept it secret for so long that he's used to the constant threat of danger and being injured, and sometimes it still surprises him that people are actually worried about him when he spends most of his time fighting criminals who kind of would like to kill him.  
> anyway, hopefully i did this concept some justice <3

Lance got shot. 

It’s hard to find a bright side to that, but at the very least, the bullet went clean through his body, which is a good thing! He thinks? Maybe. He’s a little more preoccupied with how much blood he’s currently losing.

The only thing thing that’s been in his favor today is the fact that it was already dark out when it all happened, so he doesn’t have to worry about being seen half-stumbling, half-swinging through the city. He may very well be leaving a trail of blood on the sidewalks and roads below him, but there isn’t much he can do about that (there is _so_ much blood, like—seriously, how did all of this fit into his body?). 

He never realized until now just how much energy it takes to shoot, pull, swing. Shoot, pull, swing—don’t fall. The city lights seem way too bright right now. Have they always been this bright? And loud. Car brakes are really loud, they should quiet down. Wait, is it the car brakes or is it just the screeching in his own ears? Either way, it’s giving him a headache. He didn’t know it was possible to have a migraine yet be light-headed and dizzy all at the same time.

Part of him is operating on auto-pilot, which—great. At least he’s moving, hopefully getting himself somewhere safe. The other part of him is dead to the world, honestly. God, he really just wants to lay down for a second. Preferably somewhere quiet and a bit cooler. He took his mask off a long time ago, otherwise he probably would’ve passed out a long time ago, it’s way too stuffy. Also, he wouldn’t say no to some food, even though he’s mostly sure he wouldn’t be able to stomach it. 

It’s been—an amount of time. Actually, he can’t remember how long it’s been when he finally finds himself staggering onto the fire escape and clumsily wrenching open a window on the side of an apartment complex. Which, now that he thinks about it is pretty risky, because he can barely keep a clear head and at this point he just hopes it was the right window. Not to mention he looks _so_ sketchy right now.

“Lance? What are you—oh my _god.”_

Oh, that’s Keith’s voice. Good. Right window, then.

“Oh, hey Keith.” Lance has somehow already managed to get through the window without falling over, which is pretty impressive considering the fact that everything is now spinning. That’s fun. 

Keith has shot up from his desk chair, one hand clutching the back of it as he stares at Lance, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. His eyes are pretty, Lance thinks. They remind him of a kaleidoscope. Maybe that doesn’t make sense. Unrelated, has Keith’s carpet always been that color? He can’t remember—oh, wait no. It definitely hasn’t. Lance would feel a little worse about the growing splotches of red on the floor if he could keep his thoughts in one place for long enough. 

His mouth feels dry when he talks. “Do you think I could borrow some ibuprofen? Or maybe like—” He thinks he must pass out for a second, because he blinks and suddenly he’s leaning heavily against the windowsill, and Keith is swearing loudly and rushing across the room. 

He’s still lucid enough to recognize the clear panic in Keith’s voice and on his face as he helps him down into a sitting position against the wall. “Lance, what the hell?” 

“I’m fine, I just—” He doesn’t have enough air to finish his thought and he’s forced to take a breath. “—need to sit down for a second.” 

“Oh my god.” Keith has one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching down to touch Lance’s side before he thinks better of it and pulls it back to his mouth. “Oh my god. Lance, oh my god—” 

“I heard you the first time,” Lance winces, closing his eyes and dropping his head back against the wall. 

“What do I—Lance, why did you come _here,_ why didn’t you go to the hospital—” 

“Can’t,” Lance sighs, trying valiantly to ignore the slick feeling of his fingers on his stomach. Although, Keith does have a point. He’s not sure why he thought bleeding out on Keith’s bedroom floor would be any better. 

“I’m getting Shiro.” 

_That_ gets Lance’s attention. His eyes snap open and he tilts his head back down in time to see Keith moving to stand. He reaches out to grab Keith’s arm and immediately regrets it, hissing as the pain in his entire left side flares up until his vision goes blurry. “Wait, no, bad idea—” 

“I didn’t ask,” Keith snaps, slipping easily from Lance’s grasp. “I’m getting Shiro, whether you like it or not.”

And then he all but sprints across the room and flings the door open, disappearing into the hallway before Lance can so much as blink. Weird, because everything also seems to be simultaneously happening in slow-motion. He hears Keith calling Shiro’s name, voice sounding desperate and frantic. It’s kind of sweet, in a morbid kind of way. 

He doesn’t remember closing his eyes again, but the next thing he knows, he’s jerked back into the present by the sound of someone snapping in his face.

“Hey there, kid.” That’s Shiro’s voice, he thinks. Lance blinks his vision back into focus to find Shiro crouching down in front of him, Keith standing close behind. “You still with us?” 

“M’here,” Lance manages, just before a wave of nausea hits him full force and he grimaces, head falling back against the wall. “Mostly.” 

He can’t hear what Shiro says next over the pain in his side. Can you hear pain? Is that a thing? You know what, he’s gonna go with yes. Because before he even has the chance to recover, both his arms are being slung over Shiro’s and Keith’s shoulders and he’s being lifted from the floor, and _god_ he has no idea how he hasn’t blacked out from the pain yet. 

Okay wait. Yeah, he definitely blacked out, because he wakes up yet again to the sound of Shiro’s voice. They’ve moved him to Keith’s bed, that much he can tell. Part of his suit has already been cut away, which is fine, Lance has patched it up plenty of times before. Shiro has some kind of medical kit lying open on Keith’s desk, picking through its contents as he talks. 

“There you are,” he says, returning to Lance’s side with what Lance thinks is gauze but is a little too out of it to really care. “I need you to stay with me, okay? Try not to close your eyes. Can you focus on Keith for me?” 

“Oh.” Lance knows he’s sitting down, back propped against Keith’s pillows, but he still feels dizzy, somehow. He realizes belatedly that Keith is standing on his other side, and drags his gaze up toward him. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” 

Keith smiles, or tries to, anyway, but he still looks too panicked for it to be very reassuring. Lance doesn’t really mind. 

“Alright, I’m gonna ask you a few questions, is that okay?” Shiro is still talking over the sound of the ringing in Lance’s ears that he thinks has maybe been there since he heard the gunshot. Lance nods, even though he’s still staring unwaveringly at Keith, who still tries to smile back even though Lance can see every single worried line etched into his face. 

“Can you tell me your name?”

His name. Easy. Of course Lance knows his own name. “My name’s Lan—” He pauses, then, and chokes out something halfway between a giggle and a snort. “Ohhh. Ha. Okay, I see what you’re trying to do. You just wanna know my secret identity.” He scoffs. “Not gonna happen, dude.” 

“He already knows who you are, Lance,” Keith sighs, sounding exasperated and concerned all at once. 

Lance blinks. “Oh, right.” He frowns. “Wait, then why is he asking?” 

“Oh my god,” Keith whispers, but Shiro is already moving on, unfazed. 

“Lance, do you know where you are?”

“Um. Keith’s bedroom.”

“And do you know what time it is?” 

Lance’s entire side feels kind of numb, too stiff and uncomfortable. “I—kind of lost track a while ago.” 

Shiro just hums conversationally, as if anything about this conversation is normal. “How about the date?” 

“Oh. It’s, uh—” The pain flares up again, searing and white-hot and it cuts him off with a gasp, back arching slightly off the bed. _“God,_ is it supposed to hurt this much—” 

Not a second later than Shiro is over him, firmly pressing him back down. “Listen, I know it hurts but I need you to stay still so I can clean this up.” 

“Sorry,” Lance pants, scrabbling for something to hold and finding Keith’s hand there waiting for him. He takes hold of it and lets out a harsh breath, gripping his fingers tightly. Keith is crying now, when he manages to focus his vision again and look up at him. When did he start crying? Lance wishes he wouldn’t, it makes him feel bad. He still looks beautiful, though.

Keith huffs a shaky laugh, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his free hand. “Thanks.” 

Oh. Lance said that out loud, didn’t he? 

“Yeah, you did.” 

“Ugh,” Lance groans, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “So this is what it feels like when people read your mind.”

“Hey, focus on me, remember?” Keith reaches across to tilt Lance’s face back toward him. “You said you would.”

Lance does. He looks at Keith, and the tear tracks that trail all the way down to his chin, and the way his hair is sticking out in funny places even though he has it tied back. He’s worrying at his bottom lip, the way he does when he’s nervous, chewing away all the skin until it bleeds, sometimes.

“You’re worried about me,” Lance tells him, like an observation.

Keith kind of looks like he can’t decide between punching him and kissing him. As much as he loves kissing Keith, neither option sounds particularly enjoyable right now. “You’re bleeding all over my bedroom.” 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Keith sniffs, offering a tiny, watery smile and squeezing his hand. “I don’t mind, as long as you stay with me.” 

“I like being with you,” Lance says honestly. He’s tired. Keith’s hand is warm, fingers tangled and solid against his own. His eyelids feel heavy, but if he closes his eyes he can’t see Keith, and he wants to see Keith. “I like looking at you,” he adds, but his own voice sounds a bit strange and faraway.

Keith grips Lance’s hand tighter. “I like looking at you too,” he chokes, his hand trembling slightly as he reaches forward to brush Lance’s hair away from his forehead. “So just—keep your eyes open so you can see me, okay?” 

Lance hums in agreement, because at this point it takes too much energy to actually speak.

Shiro touches his shoulder lightly, just to let him know he’s being addressed. “Are you breathing okay?” 

“Um.” Lance takes a small breath, a bit shallow, but it’s enough. “Think so.” 

“Do you have any healing abilities?” 

There’s a sharp pang in Lance’s side and he narrowly resists the urge to squirm. “I mean, m’no Deadpool, but I usually heal pretty fast.” He focuses on a piece of hair sticking to Keith’s wet cheekbone. “Never been this bad before, though.”

Keith makes a small whimpering sound, but then Shiro is reaching over him and Lance turns his head slightly to look at him. There’s gauze covering his side now. That’s strange. When did that happen? 

Shiro is leaning into his space, brow creased in concentration as he wraps something around his waist. “I’m almost done Lance, you’re doing great.” Lance doesn’t think he’s done much of anything, but he appreciates the thought anyway. “I just need to do this one last thing and we’re done, does that sound good?” 

“Mhm,” Lance nods, watching distractedly as Shiro’s hands work at—something. He doesn’t really know what it is, honestly, he’s never seen it before. 

“There’s no way to sugarcoat this, so this is going to hurt. But we’re going to get you through it, alright?”

“Okay.” He sounds so small, and probably just as scared as he feels. It didn’t occur to him until now how scared he is.

“Hold onto Keith and try to stay awake, can you do that for me?” 

Lance’s gaze flits back to Keith, instinctively tightening his grip on Keith’s hand. “I can try.” 

“On three. Ready?” Lance doesn’t really have the chance to answer before Shiro starts counting. “One, two—” 

“Shiro, wait—” Keith starts, but it’s too late.

Lance doesn’t actually hear Shiro say three. More like he feels it, when the entire left side of his body erupts with pain that makes him see literal stars, involuntarily throwing his head back against the wall as he gasps for air because whatever breath he had in his body was just ripped from it. And it’s only getting worse, sharper and infinitely more intense as Shiro tightens— _something,_ he still doesn’t even know what it is and obviously he’s a bit too incapacitated at the moment to ask—around his waist.

Keith is crying again, and for a split second Lance is terrified it’s because he’s squeezing his hand too hard, but Keith is squeezing back just as tightly, expression pleading as he begs for Shiro to stop. “Shiro don’t, _please,_ you’re hurting him—” 

Lance clamps his eyes shut and grits his teeth and wills himself not to pass out, desperately fighting back the black creeping around the edges of his vision. He grips Keith’s hands so tightly he’s afraid it’ll bruise, and presses himself back into the pillows until his shoulder blades dig into the wall because he doesn’t know where else to go.

And just as quickly as it started, it all stops. It still hurts, but the pain fades substantially, reduced to a dull, aching throb in his side that seems to shoot all the way down to his toes with every pulse. He immediately jumps at the chance to _breathe,_ inhaling a lungful of air and loosening his grip on Keith’s hand, although Keith doesn’t seem keen on loosening his own anytime soon. Lance hears Shiro breathe out a long, slow sigh, and feels another hand settle gently on his shoulder. 

“You did it,” he says softly, and it’s honestly so soothing that it nearly puts Lance right to sleep. He’s tired. Everything hurts but he’s so, so tired. “You’re going to be fine, Lance.” 

“Hurts like a bitch,” Lance mumbles, eyes still closed as he leans back against the wall. 

“Yeah,” Shiro murmurs apologetically. “You’ll have to be uncomfortable for a while.” He lightly squeezes Lance’s shoulder. “You can rest now.” 

Keith has gone silent, but Lance can feel him trembling, still clinging onto Lance’s hand for dear life. Lance musters up enough energy to turn his head toward him, eyes fluttering open just long enough to find Keith still watching him, eyes full of tears that fall as soon as he sees Lance looking up at him. “M’sorry,” Lance slurs, his eyes falling closed once again as Keith lets out a choked sob, reaching out to cradle the side of his face.

“It’s okay,” Keith whispers, brushing his thumb over Lance’s cheek. “You’re okay.” 

Lance has just enough energy to give Keith’s hand another small, faint squeeze, before the persistent black around the edges overtakes his vision, and he fades into unconsciousness.

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

It’s dark when he wakes up.

This might be on account that his eyes are closed, or maybe it’s just still dark out. Possibly both. He’s very disoriented right now. His entire body is stiff and uncomfortable, and _everything_ is hot. He can feel his hair sticking to his forehead where he’s broken into a cold sweat, and for a moment he panics because now that he thinks about it he can’t really remember where he is or what’s happened to him. 

Then he’s suddenly aware of someone’s hair tickling his neck, and cracks his eyes open wide enough to see the hand curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt (which he can’t remember how he got into, but maybe that’s besides the point), and feels the warmth of another body pressed into his side—and all of it is enough for him to instantly relax, letting out a quiet breath of relief. 

He’s been moved from Keith’s bed, of that much he’s sure. As his eyes adjust to the dark, he can make out the vague features of Shiro’s room, and consequently realizes he’s been put in Shiro’s bed. He can see familiar picture frames lining the bookshelves, and the couple of assorted posters scattered across the walls. The desk in the corner of the room is covered in stacks of textbooks and littered with papers and pens, very dimly lit by a small lamp. Keith did say that Shiro had been studying extra hard lately, he remembers. 

Speaking of.

Keith is curled up against his uninjured side, face tucked into Lance’s arm, breathing softly into the quiet of the room. Lance suddenly doesn’t mind the suffocating warmth so much. He finds himself staring without really meaning to, although he doesn’t mind that, either. Keith’s hair must’ve still been tied up when he fell asleep, because it’s so loose now that it looks like he pulled a tiny handful of it through the hair tie and called it a day; the rest of it falls across his forehead and scatters across the pillow. Lance kind of wants to run his fingers through it. He might have, if he weren’t afraid of waking him up. Also, everything still kind of hurts. 

It’s not unbearable, at least. Shiro definitely knows what he’s doing when it comes to the “patching up mortal and should-have-been fatal wounds” department. He shifts a bit on his pillow, craning his neck slightly so that he can watch Keith, gaze tracing the outline of Keith’s face and the slope of his nose, and the gentle curve of his mouth as he breathes. Even asleep, he looks so tired. Lance feels a bit guilty, wondering how long Keith had been awake and worrying after Lance wiped out. 

He’s thinking about how many forehead kisses and late-night milkshake runs it’ll take to make it up to Keith (despite the fact that Keith is _very_ lactose intolerant) when his stomach growls. Which is when he realizes that he hasn’t eaten anything since—yikes, he definitely didn’t have dinner, and he distinctly remembers the exact moment during school that he discovered he had forgotten his lunch at home, so… long story short, Lance is very, very hungry.

There are a couple of options. The digital clock blinking at him from the bedside table reads _3:16 AM;_ either he could suck it up and go back to sleep until the sun is actually up (goodness knows his body needs the rest), or he could try getting out of bed and dragging himself downstairs to raid the fridge like he has dozens of times before, although that would carry with it the risk of waking Keith. He glances back down at Keith, still fast asleep beside him, breath puffing softly against his arm, and immediately feels guilty for even entertaining the thought of the latter. Then his stomach growls again. 

Getting out of bed proves to be a challenge. Keith _is_ sort of attached to Lance’s arm, and Lance only barely manages to suppress a grunt when he shifts to sit up and a jolt of pain shoots through his entire torso, but he manages. He’s spent plenty of afternoons napping on Keith’s couch after school to know that Keith is a pretty light sleeper, and how to maneuver out of his grasp without waking him up.

Lance gently pries Keith’s fingers out of his shirt and carefully scoots aside, pausing when Keith’s brow furrows and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat, shifting a little. He settles again just as quickly though, and Lance breathes out a silent breath of relief as Keith rolls a bit further onto his side, still fast asleep, hand now lying against his pillow. The hardest part out of the way, Lance swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands slowly, hand immediately flying up to his side with a wince as he straightens. He thinks he might be sweating again. 

His stomach growls yet another complaint, so slips out of the room as quickly as he can before his own hunger can wake Keith. There are no lights on as far as he can tell, but luckily he knows his way around the apartment well enough not to run into anything. He does _not_ have special night vision abilities, as it turns out, although a majority of the public thinks he does. Most spiders have around eight eyes, and they like to live in the dark, but the ones that aren’t straight up blind just have awful vision in general. Lance should know, he looked it up. He knows a bit more about spiders now than he’d like to admit. 

He peeks into the living room as he passes by, his eyes fully adjusted to the dark at this point. There’s a glass bowl half-filled with popcorn sitting on the coffee table, and a mug of what he assumes is tea sitting on a coaster just beside it. The TV is on but muted, casting a soft blue glow across the room. A blanket is tossed haphazardly across the couch, one corner drooping over the edge and brushing the carpeted floor. The strangest part about it all is that Shiro, who Lance assumes crashed on the couch for the night since he so graciously let Lance and Keith have his bed, is nowhere to be seen. 

Lance glances over his shoulder back into the hallway. The bathroom door is closed, but there’s no light creeping through the cracks, and Shiro definitely isn’t the type of person to use it in the dark. It’s likely that he got called out to a scene, or maybe he’s working a midnight to noon shift. Lance has never understood exactly how it works, but he knows that some days Shiro is on call for the full twenty-four hours, so it would make sense. The selfish part of him is relieved, because he isn’t exactly looking forward to the conversation he inevitably needs to have with his childhood best friend-turned-boyfriend’s older brother about… everything that just happened.

Shrugging, he continues on his way and scuffles into the kitchen, not bothering to flip on the light. The fridge door swings open easily, and he has to squint a bit against the light shining from inside. Honestly, there’s not much. Keith does most of the cooking, surprisingly—Shiro is good at a lot of things, but cooking is not one of them. Lance wonders if they’ve even had time to go grocery shopping recently, what with Keith at school all day and Shiro having one of the most unpredictable work schedules of all time. He bites back another wince as he bends down to rummage through what little there is on the shelves, then immediately straightens again when he hears a soft clicking sound, something a lot like a door closing.

He turns to look over his shoulder briefly, listening attentively. His vision may not be enhanced, but he does have a habit now of picking up noises much further away than he used to be able. Maybe someone is leaving the apartment next to them, maybe even below them. Considering he hears nothing else after another moment of listening, that seems like a reasonable explanation. Satisfied, he turns and resumes his search through the fridge, and bends back down to get a better look at the bottom shelf. The little hairs rising on the back of his neck and along the length of his arms alert him just a little too late to the approaching presence behind him.

The kitchen light flicks on. “Lance?”

Lance starts, and promptly smacks his head against the underside of the fridge shelf his head was buried in. _“Quiznak,_ ow, owowow—” His hand flies up to cradle the back of his head as he turns, and freezes the instant he sees who’s managed to creep up behind him. “Shiro!” 

Shiro looks genuinely conflicted, expression torn between sympathy and amusement as Lance practically slams the fridge door shut behind him. He’s wearing a tank top and shorts, hair a bit rumpled and eyes tired even as they sparkle with mirth. His prosthetic arm hangs by his side, the other now leaning against the threshold as his mouth turns up into a smile. 

“Sorry!” Lance squeaks, before he even knows what he’s apologizing for. He bumps the fridge door shut with his hip, immediately regretting it when the pain in his side flares momentarily. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just—well, I was, er—”

“Lance,” Shiro chuckles, pushing away from the doorway. “It’s okay. I was just outside on the phone.” 

“Oh,” Lance breathes, head still throbbing a little from where he hit it against the shelf. 

Shiro’s gaze shifts slightly, and Lance blinks when his expression immediately changes, brow pinched in concern. He gestures toward Lance, eyes flicking back up to meet his. “May I?”

Lance follows Shiro’s line of sight from only a second earlier, and realizes, belatedly, that he’s pressed one of his hands to his injured side. “Oh,” he repeats dumbly. “Um, yeah. Course.” 

Shiro motions again to one of the stools underneath the counter, and Lance obediently sits, waiting anxiously as Shiro disappears to grab his supplies. He returns a moment later with the same medical kit he’d used earlier, setting it onto the counter and pulling another stool out to sit across from Lance. It’s a little awkward, but Shiro helps him pull his shirt the rest of the way off when he gets stuck halfway through, after discovering he can’t lift his arms over his head without wanting to throw up from the pain. Shiro folds his shirt on the counter (the angel of a man, bless him) and scoots himself closer, fingers working gently to unwrap the gauze around his torso. 

“So, um.” Lance tries not to fidget, staring off somewhere to the right over the counter as Shiro works. The quiet is uncomfortable in a way that makes his skin crawl and fingers twitch, especially where he spreads them against the counter. “Who were you talking to? On the phone, I mean.”

He can hear the small smile in Shiro’s voice when he answers. “Adam.” 

The name is familiar, but it takes Lance a moment to place why. “Your boyfriend? He’s a reporter, isn’t he?”

Shiro hums by way of confirmation, carefully peeling the gauze away from Lance’s wound and glancing up sympathetically when Lance hisses. “He’s been a bit swamped with work lately. Been pulling a lot of late nights.”

“Oh,” Lance replies, because that’s all he can think of to say. Shiro doesn’t let the following silence stretch though, although he suspects he’s doing it mostly for Lance’s benefit. 

“The bleeding stopped almost as soon as you fell asleep,” he murmurs, eyes alight with interest as he inspects Lance’s side. “Usually you’re supposed to keep wounds like these dry for the first twenty-four hours or so, but—” He huffs an incredulous breath, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I wouldn’t even know you’d been shot, it’s already healed so much.” 

“Um—” 

“The fact that you’re already walking after—what, _maybe_ five hours?” Shiro continues excitedly, fingers hovering over the skin that’s started to scab. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Uh... Thanks, I guess.”

There must be something cold, or standoffish in his tone, because Shiro seems to freeze for a moment before pulling his hand away and dropping it into his lap. “Sorry, I’m being unfair. I don’t mean to treat you like some kind of science project.”

“No, it’s okay,” Lance assures him hastily, fingers stilling on the countertop. “I’m just—used to all of this, I guess. I don’t ever really think about it.”

And there it is. The subtle but calculated shift in Shiro’s expression toward something reserved and distant with just a hint of what looks concerningly like distaste. It’s exactly what Lance has been anticipating, exactly what he’s been afraid of seeing ever since he and Keith started dating. Sure, the context of this situation is notably much more drastic, but it’s certainly relevant. 

Lance goes quiet, watching as Shiro stands and goes to the sink to run a cloth under some warm water. When he comes back, he gently nudges Lance’s knee aside so he has enough space to reach Lance’s stomach, pressing the cloth to some of the dried blood still caked around the edges of the wound on his side. It still stings, but not enough for Lance to react, especially considering that he’s felt much worse. 

He presses his palm flat against the counter and tries not to fidget, but it’s difficult when everything in him wants to break the sudden, thick silence that’s settled over them. It’s almost palpable, the way it hangs in the air and makes Lance want to avert his gaze even though Shiro isn’t looking at him. Regardless, Shiro’s hands are careful, all of his concentration focused on cleaning Lance’s side, pressing just hard enough to get the job done without causing any more pain than necessary. 

Lance swallows down the lump that’s started to form in his throat. Shiro never asked for this—to be sitting in the kitchen at half past three in the morning after having slept on the couch instead of in his own bed, cleaning blood and dirt from a bullet wound in his little brother’s boyfriend’s torso; yet Lance hasn’t heard a single complaint. Not that Shiro would ever voice them, which is arguably much more distressing in this case, and the reason Lance can’t help but say what he does next.

He hesitates for a moment, gathering his courage, and then: “Are you upset that it’s me?” he asks quietly. 

Shiro’s hand stills, and Lance resists the urge to grimace. He keeps his eyes down as Shiro shifts back, cloth still dangling from his outstretched hand. Maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to assume, but he’s pretty confident he already knows the look he’ll find on Shiro’s face once he lifts his head. Another moment of quiet passes, filling Lance’s chest with an awful sense of dread. 

“Hey.” He starts a little at the touch of Shiro’s hand on his shoulder, and finally brings himself to meet Shiro’s gaze, which is something entirely different than he ever would have expected: properly bewildered, disbelieving, maybe even a little hurt. “Why would you think that?” 

Lance’s tongue suddenly feels too heavy in his mouth, eyes widening slightly. “Well, I mean—it’s just—” His eyes fall back to his lap, because he still can’t quite bring himself to look directly at Shiro. “Because it’s dangerous, or whatever. And because—you know…” He falters, voice lowering to a mumble. “Keith.” 

He picks restlessly at the hem of his shorts, curling the hand he still has on the counter into a loose fist. Shiro doesn’t answer immediately, instead returning the cloth to Lance’s side after a while, movements as gentle as ever despite how tense the air feels. Lance starts counting the seconds, if only to give himself some kind of distraction from the way his stomach turns over in discomfort, something cold and heavy settling in his gut. 

“You know,” Shiro starts after a while, then pauses. “I wanted to be a surgeon.” 

Lance blinks at his lap once, then twice, looking up in surprise. Shiro continues working, nudging Lance’s knee a little further out of the way. 

“That was why I started medical school in the first place. I wanted to help people, and at the time that seemed like the best way I could. I had a decent eye, steady hands, good instincts—everything they said a good surgeon should have.” His movements seem to slow almost imperceptibly, but he goes on. “Then I was in that car accident, and… well. You know how it goes.” 

He pulls away from Lance’s side and stands, and as he walks back to the sink to rinse the cloth, Lance finds his gaze inexplicably drawn to Shiro’s right arm. The arm he ended up losing, and replacing with another one entirely—one of the most advanced prosthetics yet, from what Lance remembers hearing. The school had helped him pay for it. He quickly looks away when Shiro turns and comes back, rummaging through his supplies again before sitting back down.

“So,” Lance says cautiously, watching as Shiro pats his skin dry and presses a clean bandage against the area that still hasn’t quite healed. “Why are you telling me this?” 

Shiro taps his elbow and Lance obediently lifts it so he can finish taping the bandage into place, and then he leans back with a sigh, pushing his medical kit aside. Lance waits patiently, laying both hands in his lap and scratching idly at his wrist. 

“When I was at the crash,” he begins again, then stops. Takes a breath, restarts. “The car flipped twice. Honestly, I don’t really remember much else other than that I was alone, my arm was stuck, I couldn’t reach my cell and I had no idea if anyone even knew where I was, much less coming to help me.” 

The image of a younger Shiro trapped and alone in an overturned car with no way of communication appears in Lance’s mind, one that he does his best to dismiss as quickly as it came when his stomach clenches unhappily. Shiro folds his arms over his knees and leans against them.

“I don’t really know how long I waited. By the time the ambulance got there I could hardly feel anything, and I was so scared out of my mind that I wouldn’t let anyone touch me, even though they were trying to help.” His eyes are fixed on nothing in particular, somewhere on the other side of the kitchen. And then he smiles, of all things, and Lance’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Then this man—I don’t remember exactly what he said, which is a common theme in the story, in case you haven’t noticed—he managed to calm me down long enough for the team to be able to pull me out. They stuck me in the ambulance and he sat by me the entire way to the hospital. Which is his job, obviously, because he was doing what he could for my arm, but… he was also doing what he could to comfort me, too.

“I was just some stranger that got T-boned trying to get onto the freeway, completely by myself and absolutely terrified and yet he made it feel like everything was really going to be okay.” Lance spots him flexing the fingers of his prosthetic, but he doesn’t mention it. Shiro goes quiet for a moment, and then sighs again, glancing down at his hands. “Anyway. When they told me that they were going to have to amputate, I didn’t need anyone to tell me that I was never going to be a surgeon.” He laughs a little, quiet and bittersweet. “And the funny thing was… I was really okay with it.”

Lance finds himself frowning, but he doesn’t dare interrupt. Shiro isn’t finished anyway, busying himself with smoothing out the fabric of his shorts. “I still wish I knew his name. I’m not sure when I really made the decision, but that man—I just knew I wanted to do for other people what he did for me.” 

The following silence stretches on long enough that Lance decides it’s safe to finally speak, so he does. “Okay, so—and not that you don’t have, like, a really cool and deep backstory and stuff, but… I’m still kind of lost on what this has to do with me.” He blinks, considering. “I am now realizing how selfish that sounded.”

Shiro laughs again, and this time it’s a bit fuller, more genuine. “Don’t worry, I’m getting to it.” He shifts in his place to better face Lance, so their knees are directly across from each other but not touching. “After I completed my certification to become a paramedic—it’s all very exciting, and definitely fulfilling, but it’s also really, really hard. I love what I do, but that doesn’t make it any easier to see anyone getting hurt.” Lance stares at him as he reaches across and gently touches his knee, voice softening. 

“I’m always going to worry about Keith. That’s one of the requirements of being a good older sibling. So it’s nice to know that I have Spider-Man himself looking out for my little brother, but… that doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you, too.”

Lance’s throat is tight, an unwanted heat building just behind his eyes, but he swallows it all down and looks back down to his hands, busying himself by massaging his knuckles (still a bit bruised, but even that will fade too, eventually). He should be grateful, he knows, to have someone like Shiro so genuinely concerned about his well-being, even despite the fact that he could be a potential threat to his _and_ Keith’s safety. But a part of him still wishes that all this had gone very differently, that he hadn’t had to come crashing through Keith’s bedroom window, of all places, in search of help. 

Shiro removes his hand from Lance’s knee but stays seated, as if he can sense Lance’s frustration. “Does anyone else know?” he asks gently. 

Lance sighs, offering a miniscule shake of his head. “No,” he mumbles. “Just Keith, until tonight.”

“That’s it? Not even your family?” 

The idea is so laughable that Lance—well, laughs. “Oh, no. _No_ way. Do you have any idea how much trouble I’d get in if my parents found out I’d been sneaking out every night since I was barely sixteen to—oh no.” Lance straightens suddenly, eyes widening at his most recent realization. Shiro only blinks at him, confused. “Ay, dios mío, my family—I didn’t go home last night, my parents have no idea where I am, Mamá is gonna _kill_ me—”

“No, Lance—it’s okay, relax,” Shiro interrupts, chuckling softly as he holds out a placating hand. “I called them earlier.” 

Lance lets out the breath that he had been planning to use for the rest of his sentence. “What?” 

“Yeah. They think you came over after school and passed out on the couch.” 

Lance stares at him. “You lied?” 

Shiro makes a thoughtful sound, half-shrugging. “I mean, I never said you came over _immediately_ after school. And you _did_ pass out, just not on the couch.” He smiles, standing from his seat. “You’re welcome.” 

“Um. Thank you,” Lance says, mostly to himself since Shiro is now busy putting his things away. 

He’s contemplating whether or not Shiro would be a go-to if he ever needed help getting away with murder, in the extremely unlikely and unrealistic scenario that he in fact murdered someone, when there’s a sudden crinkling of plastic and an unopened package of Oreos is dropped onto the counter just next to him. He blinks at it, then up at Shiro, who smiles. 

“Hungry?” 

“Oh,” Lance says dumbly. “Oh, thank you, really, but I’m—”

“Judging by the fact that I found you in here with your head stuck in my fridge, the answer better be yes or I’ll know _you’re_ lying.” 

Lance hesitates. “Yes,” he admits sheepishly.

“Thought so,” Shiro nods in satisfaction, slipping his phone from his pocket and tapping at the screen. “I’ll order a pizza.” 

“From Sal’s? Can we get the extra spicy pepperoni kind?” Lance asks around the mouthful of Oreo that he’s already crammed into his mouth. 

Shiro waves him away as he speaks to the person on the other end of the phone, and Lance smiles to himself and eats another Oreo and a half. 

He’s wondering exactly how much pizza he could eat in one sitting with his present metabolism when there’s an abrupt _bang_ from somewhere down the hall. Shiro nearly drops his phone in surprise and Lance almost jerks off his stool and chokes on his most recently consumed Oreo. The hall light flicks on, there’s a small flurry of footsteps, and then Keith appears in the entrance of the kitchen, looking rather frantic and out of breath. 

“Shiro, where the hell is—” His eyes fall on Lance, sitting frozen at the counter with half a cookie in his mouth. “Lance,” he finishes, in one short breath that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.

Lance swallows his bite. “Uh—” 

_“What_ are you _doing?”_

“Keith, relax,” Lance tries, holding one hand out in an attempt to defuse the current situation. “I’m f—”

“No!” Keith snaps, both fists clenching at his sides. “You don’t get to tell me to ‘relax’ when barely five hours ago you were bleeding out in my bedroom, and now you’re sitting in the kitchen eating _my_ Oreos!” 

The room is silent for a moment, and then Shiro brings his phone back to his ear. “Make that a large, please.” 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The pizza arrives at four o’clock on the dot.

Lance is _starving._

Keith has mostly calmed down since he burst into the kitchen, aside from his crossed arms and perpetual frown and occasional muttering under his breath. He and Shiro make themselves comfortable on the other side of the counter while Lance digs into the pizza, flipping open the box and taking an enormous bite out of his first slice before it even makes it to his plate.

He’s about two and a half pieces in when he looks up to find both Keith and Shiro watching him. Well, more like glaring, in Keith’s case, while Shiro still has an expression of simple fascination and curiosity. Lance’s chewing slows, and he swallows, gesturing at the pizza box. “Do you guys want any?” 

“I’m good,” Shiro says, at the same time that Keith says, very blatantly: “No.” 

Lance takes another slice.

He makes it halfway through that one before Keith speaks again, arms still folded tightly across his chest. “Why are you even up?” 

“Keith,” Shiro sighs.

“I got hungry,” Lance grumbles, popping a stray piece of pepperoni into his mouth.

“I’m serious!” Keith cries, slapping his hands onto the counter and shooting straight up out of his seat. “Five hours ago you practically fell through my window with a literal bullet hole in you, bled all over my room, passed out in my bed, and now you’re walking around and eating _pizza_ of all things like it never even happened!” 

Lance wipes some grease off his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean. I kind of do that a lot.” He pauses, considering. “Not the bullet hole thing, but the passing out thing.”

Keith stares at him as he reaches for yet another slice, eyes wide and mouth open in an expression of utter disbelief. “And that’s supposed to make me feel _better?”_

“Keith,” Shiro repeats softly, reaching out to touch Keith’s arm. “It’s really late, and we’re all tired—” 

“You’re on his side?” Keith gapes, withdrawing his arm from Shiro’s reach. 

“I really don’t get what the big deal is,” Lance mutters.

Keith’s head snaps toward him, his disbelieving look instantly replaced by something much, much colder, and borderline furious. Shiro glances over at Lance, brow furrowed, but Lance doesn’t look. He meets Keith’s gaze head on, pizza lying forgotten in the box beside him. The silence settles over them, thick and heavy, and then Keith breaks it.

“The big deal,” he repeats slowly, almost threateningly. He shoves himself away from the counter and moves around the edge, stomping across the floor toward Lance without showing any sign of letting up. “The big deal? The _big deal_ is that you aren’t taking a single _thing_ about this seriously, which is stupid, and _selfish,_ and _completely_ unfair, because _you_ might be fine but I’m not, considering that for a good half hour I thought you were as good as—” 

The second that he’s close enough, Lance reaches out to snatch Keith’s wrist, lifting it from his side and planting his hand over his own heart. Keith stutters to a halt in front of him, already attempting to pull back, but Lance holds fast. “Keith, stop. Look at me.” Keith does. He reluctantly stops struggling against Lance’s grip and instead focuses all of his energy on his glaring so fiercely it’s hard not to back down—unless you’re Lance.

Lance loosens his grip a little, but not enough for Keith to slip away. He lets the moment of quiet stretch, meeting Keith’s fiery gaze for every second of it, willing him to feel every single beat of his heart, hard and steady. His fingers are cold against his bare skin, but the touch still makes him feel warm. “I’m okay,” he says softly, and Keith presses his mouth into a thin line, biting back whatever else he’d been about to say. “I promise.” 

Keith’s stubbornness to let up is impressive, to say the least. He keeps glaring for as long as he’s able, jaw locked, shoulders stiff. It’s the slightest quiver of his lower lip that’s the first sign of his resolve crumbling. His eyes well up, and then a single tear spills over and drips onto his cheek. Lance rises to his feet and pulls Keith forward into his chest, and Keith goes willingly. He presses his forehead to Lance’s shoulder, Lance wraps his arms around him, and Keith’s entire body trembles as he begins to cry. 

“I’m gonna be fine,” Lance murmurs, brushing his fingers through Keith’s hair. Keith lets out a single sob in response, shaky and broken, and Lance holds him closer. 

It takes a while for Keith to calm back down, and even then he makes no sign of moving away. He settles into Lance’s arms and tucks his face into his chest, and for a few moments Lance lets himself focus on Keith’s breaths, each one a soft puff of air that tickles his skin. His shoulder still feels damp where Keith cried against it, but he doesn’t mind.

Keith’s hand never moves away from Lance’s heart. 

Shiro pulls them out of the silence eventually, sounding a bit reluctant but firm, in the gentlest of ways. “It’s late,” he says quietly, slowly standing from his place at the counter. “We should all get some rest.” 

Lance risks a glance at the time blinking on the microwave and grimaces. “We have to get up for school soon.” 

Shiro snorts, discarding Lance’s uneaten slice of pizza back into the box and taking his plate. “I don’t think you two are going to school tomorrow. I’ll call them later, tell them you both came down with something.” 

Lance is about to voice his protest when Keith shifts and finally peels himself away from Lance’s chest, reaching up to wipe his eyes on the back of his hand. The sight of him is enough to send a sharp pang of guilt through his entire body: hair ruffled, eyes a bit bloodshot and rimmed with red, cheeks flushed from crying. Suddenly he wants nothing more than to climb back into bed and wrap Keith up and sleep through the entire day. 

As if he can hear Lance’s thoughts, Shiro glances back at them over his shoulder, watching them for a second or two before smiling softly. “You guys can go back to my room.” 

For once, Lance doesn’t question it. He answers with a quiet ‘thank you’, and guides Keith out of the kitchen with a gentle hand against the small of his back. They’re both silent as they travel the short way down the hall back to Shiro’s room, and Lance thinks to reach for Keith’s hand only to find that Keith is already slipping their fingers together, regardless of the fact that they have to let go only a moment later when they enter Shiro’s bedroom. 

Keith lets Lance get settled under the sheets (his side still aches) before climbing into bed after him and pulling the covers over them both, sliding into place just beside him. He curls up against Lance’s side just like he had before, and lays a hand flat against his chest, just like Lance had him do only a while earlier.

Lance tries not to think about why.

Instead he wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders and runs his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back and tucking it behind his ear. Keith blinks a butterfly kiss against his bare skin, maybe intentional or maybe not, and Lance shifts over onto his uninjured side to wrap his other arm around Keith’s middle. Keith lets him, arms tucked between them, quiet as Lance continues to run his fingers through his hair, gently tugging at his tangles and playing with the ends because he knows from experience that it helps him to fall asleep.

And he does, eventually. Lance knows, because Keith’s breathing slows, his fingers stop twitching restlessly against his chest, and soon he can feel the steady rise and fall of Keith’s body wrapped up against him.

Lance keeps brushing through Keith’s hair for long after that, and lays awake hoping for sleep that might never come. 

。·:*:·ﾟ★。·:*:·ﾟ☆

The sun is out when he wakes up the second time. 

He knows this, because it’s currently shining directly into his eyeballs.

It takes a moment or two for him to muster up the courage to crack his eyes open, squinting harshly against the sunlight spilling through the blinds on the far side of the room. His mind is still rather foggy and cluttered, and for a while he lays there in a sort of daze, letting himself drift fully into consciousness at his own pace. 

There’s a warm, familiar weight at his side, one that he appreciates with a small smile as blinks into focus. His arm is a bit numb, still wrapped firmly in place around the body beside him, but even so he doesn’t move, not wanting to disturb the peace. That is, until he feels the lightest brush of fingers against his ribs, just above his healing wound, and he looks down to find Keith already awake, eyes fixed on where his own hand makes contact with Lance’s side.

Lance watches him for a little, taking in each and every one of his features. His hair is sticking up in a few places, ruffled from sleep and falling into his eyes, somehow looking almost like the lightest shade of violet from the light shining on his face. There’s a tiny scratch on his cheek, one that Lance distinctly remembers him getting at school the day before after accidentally poking himself with a pencil, and he can’t help but shift and reach down to brush his thumb over it, causing Keith to look up at him in surprise.

“Hey,” Lance murmurs, smiling. 

Keith offers a small smile in return, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Lance realizes upon a second look that there are dark circles underneath them, like he didn’t sleep much after they went to bed the second time. “Hi.” 

Lance frowns slightly, withdrawing his hand. “How long have you been up?” 

His frown deepens as Keith lowers his gaze once more with a faint shrug of his shoulders. “Not long. We should probably check your wound,” he adds, before Lance has the opportunity to say anything else. 

Lance is reluctant to change the subject, but he glances down at where Keith’s fingers now rest delicately against his bandages. “Oh. Yeah, I guess so.” He experimentally lifts his arm up over his head, rolling his shoulder a little. There’s a dull ache, but nothing much more than that. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, I don’t think.” 

Keith is quiet for a moment, and then all of a sudden he’s pulling the sheets away and lifting himself up to clamber on top of Lance, straddling him with one knee on either side of Lance’s hips. “Um,” Lance says, a little too confused to be particularly affected by their current position, but Keith waves him away and reaches down to start working at the tape keeping Lance’s bandaging in place. Lance falls silent, watching Keith’s fingers pull at the tape for a while before looking up to watch Keith instead, his brow furrowed and lips pulled down in concentration.

Although Shiro had spent all last night patching him up, it feels strangely intimate to have Keith caring for him instead, even if it’s only the bare minimum. His touch is gentle in a way that makes Lance feel fragile almost, but not in the worst way. More like he’s something precious worth being careful with—not like some random cardboard box with a ‘handle with caution’ sign stamped across its side, but like a beautifully crafted piece of glass that deserves special attention. 

That’s how Lance has always felt about Keith, anyway. He supposes Keith may feel the same way about him.

Keith takes his time, but eventually he peels the tape away and strips Lance’s side of the bandaging, eyes widening slightly as he does so but otherwise remaining neutral. Lance follows his line of sight and isn’t all too surprised to see that the wound has almost healed completely, except for a large, deep purple bruise that’s gone a bit yellow in spots, because even that is beginning to heal, too. He studies it for a moment, and then his gaze slides back up to Keith’s face, gauging his reaction. Keith hasn’t looked away, expression relatively blank as he lays his palm over the bruised skin, fingers splaying across it but never pressing hard enough for Lance to feel any pain. Lance allows the quiet to remain for a moment longer, and then he lays his hand over Keith’s. 

“See?” he says softly, and Keith finally meets his eyes. Lance smiles reassuringly, squeezing Keith’s fingers. “Good as new.” 

Keith continues to stare at him, gaze flicking between either side of Lance’s face before he nods with one slight movement of his head and climbs fully over Lance to the floor. Lance props himself up on his elbows and watches as he bends down to retrieve a sweatshirt lying discarded on the floor, pulling it over his head and not bothering to fix his hair. “You should probably eat, too.” 

Lance opens his mouth to say something else, and then closes it. “Yeah,” he relents finally, sitting up. “Probably.” Keith nods again, and he waits until Lance has hauled himself out of bed to start for the door, slipping out into the hallway without waiting to see if Lance is following and leaving Lance watching after him with an awful feeling that despite everything being seemingly fine, something is very, very wrong. 

Shiro is nowhere to be seen when he walks into the kitchen, presumably at work now despite the tiring events of last night. All of the blankets in the living room have been neatly folded and put away, leaving behind no sign that the couch had been slept on except for the pillow against its arm. Lance’s shirt from last night lies folded at the edge of the counter, and he slips it over his head before looking down at where Keith is placing the leftover pizza box in front of him. 

“You can just have this for now,” he says decidedly, flipping it open and transferring a few slices to a plate and walking it to the microwave. “Shiro left his card, so we can order something later if we want to.” Lance doesn’t think he really has any other choice than to go along with it, hovering at the counter for a minute before slowly pulling out a seat and sinking onto it. 

He continues to watch as Keith stands at the microwave and folds his arms, waiting impatiently for the timer to go off. The second that it does he pulls out Lance’s plate and brings it back, sliding it in front of Lance and immediately walking away again to pull a glass from a cabinet and fill it with water. He gives that to Lance too, even though he hadn’t asked for it.

“Keith,” Lance tries, before Keith has the chance to walk away again. 

“Hm?” Keith slows, but he’s distracted, mind already thinking about whatever his next task is. 

“Hey.” Lance reaches out to grasp Keith’s wrist, snapping Keith out of his daze. He searches Keith’s face for a moment, but he still can’t quite decipher it. “Are you okay?” 

Keith blinks away the distant, faraway look in his eyes and finally focuses on Lance. He doesn’t respond at first, and then his shoulders loosen and one corner of his mouth turns up into a small, comforting smile. “I’m okay,” he insists, slipping from Lance’s hold and squeezing his hand. “Promise.” 

Lance doesn’t believe him for a second.

As hard as it is, he resists the urge to pry any further, knowing better than to try to force Keith to talk about his feelings. Instead he eats his pizza, and tries his best to pretend that he doesn’t notice the way Keith won’t ever meet his eye. 

They end up on the couch in the living room after they’ve both eaten something, flicking through the channels on the television until they find something to watch. One channel is halfway through a _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movie marathon, and even though the third one has already played well into the plot, they decide to stick with it. Lance is still worried about the tense silence that’s seemed to follow them into the room, but when Keith shuffles close to Lance’s side and lays his head on his shoulder, he releases a small, quiet sigh of relief, allowing himself to believe that the worst of it has passed. 

Neither of them are watching the movie, not really. Keith slips his hand into Lance’s and tangles their fingers together, and Lance rubs slow, soothing circles across the back of his hand as some of the tension melts from his shoulders. He makes a mental note to thank Shiro again for everything he’s done for him over the past twelve or so hours: stopping him from bleeding out, offering his bedroom as a resting place, covering for him with his family, cleaning his wound, not forcing him to break up with his younger brother, ordering him pizza, telling the school they’re sick so they can take a day to relax, all in all saving his life—you know, the usual. 

He much prefers sitting on the couch with Keith’s hand in his and head on his shoulder, rather than sitting at a desk and trying to pay attention to lessons about Shakespeare and math equations and everything in between. At some point, Keith lets go of Lance’s hand and nudges his arm, and Lance lifts his arm up and around Keith’s shoulders without a second thought, smiling to himself as Keith settles against his side. 

For a while, everything seems like it’s going to be okay. The crisis has passed, and things are on their way to going back to normal. Or so he thought, until he feels something warm drip onto his shoulder and seep into his shirt, and looks down to see the tear trickling down Keith’s cheek, the sight of which shoots a jolt of panic down his spine. 

“Keith?” Keith squeezes his eyes shut and presses the back of his hand to his mouth to muffle a single, choked sob, and Lance immediately shifts so that he can face him better, eyes widening slightly. “What… hey, whoa, what’s wrong?” 

“I can’t—” Keith hiccups a little into his hand, shoulders trembling underneath Lance’s arm. “Lance, I can’t— _do_ this.” 

Lance stares at him, mind scrambling to make sense of the abrupt change. “What do you—what are you talking about?” he asks, pulling his arm back and placing his hand on Keith’s arm.

“What do you think I’m talking about?” Keith cries, lifting his head to look at Lance with such an intensity that Lance almost pulls back completely. “You really don’t get it, do you? How are you not—” His own sentence is cut off by a harsh exhale of breath as his body is wracked with another sob, and his eyes well up with fresh tears. “I don’t understand how after all that you can just be _okay.”_

Lance feels guilt settle deeply in the pit of his stomach, hot and heavy. He thought he knew just how much this entire ordeal had affected Keith after his frustrated outburst last night, but clearly it was still weighing on him, and it occurs to him that—well, not everyone is as desensitized to so much pain and violence as he is. It’s complicated, he supposes, because it’s not that he’s not still afraid of getting hurt, or even dying—he’s very afraid of that, even terrified. But keeping his other identity secret for so long also means that he’s not used to other people knowing to be worried about his personal well-being.

He swallows, laying both hands in his lap and looking down at them. “Keith…” 

“No, I don’t—” Keith lets out another shaky breath, wiping at the streaks underneath his eyes only for them to be replaced. “I don’t want to hear about how you’re so used to it, I don’t—” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes in frustration, inhaling deeply. “I can’t pretend to understand how you feel, but you don’t understand how worried I’ve been about you, ever since you told me.” Lance feels his face pale, heart sinking in his chest as Keith lowers his hands, eyes still full of tears.

“I never wanted to tell you about it, because I know that’s one of the reasons it was hard for you to tell me in the first place, but now—now it’s even worse, because you got hurt and—” He pulls his knees up and drops his head, struggling to steady his breathing as he continues to cry, but Lance understands what he’d meant to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, moving to sit on the edge of the couch and turn so his knees brush Keith’s feet. “I didn’t realize just how hard last night was for you. But hey, look at the bright side.” Keith raises his head and sniffs, and Lance smiles reassuringly. “I’m okay now. Shiro fixed me up, everything’s f—” 

“That’s not the point!” Keith bursts, uncurling from himself and rising to his feet in one quick movement, angry tears glittering at the corners of his eyes. “What if Shiro hadn’t been here? What if he’d been on call last night, what if he wasn’t here to save you because he was out there saving someone else? What if you get hurt again and he’s not here to _fix_ you?” 

Lance blinks up at him, at a loss for words. He hadn’t really thought about it, about how lucky he was that Shiro happened to be home last night. “Well—I mean—” He fumbles for something to say, desperate to fill the silence. “Hopefully next time won’t be as bad—” 

“I don’t want there to _be_ a next time!” Keith snaps, although his voice wavers. He clenches his fists and presses them against his temples, glaring at the ground despite his face being splotchy with tears. “God, Lance, I thought—” He closes his eyes and shakes his head miserably, another tear dripping from his chin to the floor. “I was so scared you weren’t gonna make it,” he finally admits, voice hardly more than a whisper. 

“I’ve never been so scared in my life, you were bleeding so much when you got here—Shiro put you in his bed after you went unconscious and I couldn’t _breathe,_ I was so scared you weren’t gonna wake up. And sure, now you’re fine, but you almost died and your blood is all over my room to prove it.” 

“I—I can help clean it up,” Lance offers weakly. 

Keith drops his hands back to his sides to stare at him with a familiar expression of utter disbelief. “What—no, Lance, I don’t care about the blood, I care about _you!_ That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you, I—” He hiccups again as he fights back a fresh wave of tears, and Lance can hardly do anything but watch him break down in front of him. “I love you and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“Keith—”

“I couldn’t do anything and it was so awful, and it hurt so much and I couldn’t do _anything—”_

“Keith,” Lance repeats firmly, pushing himself to his feet to stand in front of him, reaching up to grip his upper arms. “None of it was your fault—”

“Promise me,” Keith interrupts, meeting Lance’s gaze with a hard glint in his eyes, jaw locking as he struggles to keep his composure. “Promise me this is never gonna happen again.” 

Lance falters, everything he’d been about to say dying on his tongue. Because the look in Keith’s eyes is so fierce, yet so pained and so full of hurt that he wants nothing more than to agree and to promise that no, nothing like this is ever going to happen again. He wishes it were that simple. 

After a long, loaded moment he sighs, and trails his hands down to take Keith’s in his own. Keith’s gaze never leaves him, solemn and steady as he waits for his answer. Lance licks his lips and takes a deep breath. “I can’t promise that,” he says quietly, staring down at their hands. “You know I can’t.” 

He expects Keith to be angry, maybe. Expects him to make some kind of retort and tell him to come back once he’s changed his mind, because there’s no way he can go through that same kind of hurt again. And for a moment it looks like he might, mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes shining with unshed tears. 

Then he huffs out a long, drawn-out breath, and pulls his hands from Lance’s grasp only to step forward into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him. Lance freezes slightly in surprise before quickly returning the embrace, winding his arms across Keith’s back and pressing him closer. 

“I don’t want to lose you, Lance,” Keith whispers, fingers digging into Lance’s skin. “I’m so scared of losing you.” 

Lance closes his eyes with a quiet sigh, nose brushing against the top of Keith’s head and fingers brushing through the ends of his hair. “I know,” he whispers back. “I’m scared, too.” He hesitates, rubbing one hand up and down the length of Keith’s back as he gathers his thoughts. “I’m sorry I’ve seemed so insensitive. I didn’t know…” He trails off, but from the way Keith’s body shudders and his arms tighten around him, he thinks the message got across. 

“I’m sorry I got mad,” Keith mumbles after a while, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes. “Yesterday, in the kitchen.” 

Lance laughs softly, tugging gently at a strand of Keith’s hair and tucking it behind his ear. “It’s okay. I can’t really blame you.” He feels his own smile falter as he brushes his thumb across Keith’s cheek, collecting a few droplets that have spilled down it. “And, hey.” He waits until Keith is looking at him, chewing on his lip for a moment before continuing. “I know that this is really hard. Like I told you, one of the reasons it took me so long to tell you was because I didn’t want to put you in this kind of position. I’m still kind of sorry for it, but… I also don’t regret it.” 

Keith smiles a wobbly smile, leaning into the touch of Lance’s hand. “I know. I’m still scared out of my mind, but I don’t regret it either.” He wraps his fingers around Lance’s wrist and turns to press a kiss against his palm, warmth blooming in the center of Lance’s chest as he does. “We’re a team now, you know?” 

“We always were,” Lance grins, heart feeling lighter than it has all morning as Keith giggles. “Just—we have to keep talking about things like this, okay? Be honest about how we’re feeling. It’s hard, but at least we can handle it together.” 

Keith bites his lip, eyes searching Lance’s face until he evidently finds what he’s looking for, and then he nods. “Together,” he echoes quietly, like he’s making another promise. 

And Lance thinks that maybe, as he pulls Keith back in to hold him closer, that’s because he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY QUICK NOTE: i talked to anna and cato about this chapter NONSTOP and they were probably sick of hearing about it but at some point anna mentioned the whole scenario about keith saying something about the blood in his room and lance offering to clean it up and keith being like "WHA--I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE BLOOD I CARE ABOUT YOU" and it was too perfect not to include so creds to anna (teludav on instagram, lujanne on tumblr) for her galaxy brain
> 
> i'd love to hear your thoughts!!! thanks for reading <3
> 
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